


This wish of mine

by LostinFic



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s04e17-e18 The End of Time, F/M, Fluff, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, New Year's Eve, One Shot, Pete's World
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 06:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2955284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostinFic/pseuds/LostinFic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Doctor went back to 2005 to see Rose one last time, it created a memory in her mind. Even in a parallel universe, she remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This wish of mine

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year everyone!

The Doctor is looking at Rose sleeping in his bed, her blond hair fanned out on the pillow. The morning light bounces off glitter on her shoulders, leftover from last night’s New Year’s Eve party. He thinks back on her strapless gown, the way it had fell smoothly to the floor. For the first time, there had been no questions, no hesitation— maybe it was the champagne or the tuxedo he’d been wearing— but last night she’d followed him to his bedroom, keeping her hand in his as they walked down the hall.

 

Back in Norway, they’d dived head first into their new relationship, desperate to believe that nothing had changed between them. Only to realize that no amount of pretending would erase the fact that their lives were completely different. They’d had to step back and take things slowly. The transition from travelling through time and space to a normal routine life in a parallel world was difficult for both of them. They were mourning their old life.

 

So, when he sees her smile in her sleep, it makes his human heart swell in his chest, doubling in volume with his love for her.

 

It’s a perfect morning.

 

And yet... there’s a nagging feeling that something’s amiss. He can’t quite pinpoint it, nor ignore it, like something itchy in your sock.

 

She slowly opens her eyes, specks of mascara staying behind on her cheeks.

“Hello,” she says in a soft voice, still smiling.

“Hello.”

 

She turns and curls up on his side, her naked body, warm with sleep, resting against his.

 

“I had a funny dream,” she says, her voice thick with sleep.

“Do tell.”

“It was snowing, and I was with my mum, my hair was longer— I should grow it out again— anyway, I think I was on my way to see Mickey and there was this bloke...”

 

She hesitates, and he sees that her mouth is still curled up but that the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes anymore. “Make her smile again”, he thinks to himself, not for the first time. Trying to think of an appropriate joke, he caresses her back with long strokes.

 

“And this bloke,” she continues, “he was so pissed, it was New Year’s Eve, and he didn’t even know what year it was... he told me…”

 

Her voice catches in her throat. As she tells the story, details from her dream become clearer, the features of the man standing in the shadow now visible in her mind’s eye.

 

“He told me that I’d have a really great year...”

The rest of that sentence can't get past the lump in her throat.

“Rose what is it?” His voice is filled with worry.

“It was 2005, I don’t think it was just any bloke: the hair, the suit... it was the Doctor, the other Doctor.”

 

She dreams about him every once in a while, it’s inevitable as is the pinch of jealousy in his heart, but this time it’s different. That feeling that something is amiss intensifies. There was a white noise in his brain that isn’t there anymore. A very bad feeling creeps up on him.

 

“I was at the estate,” Rose continues, “and once I was in the stairwell, I looked back at him, and he’d fallen, he was in pain... why does it feel so real?”

 

She takes a deep shuddering breath and rubs her collarbone, trying to keep it together. He has already figured it out.

 

“Spontaneous mnemonical paradox generation. It’s very rare. Everything you hear or see leaves a mnesic imprint, a memory if you will, in your brain, which may or may not vanish over time, depending on recall frequency, cognitive deterio— ”

 

Rose puts her fingers on his lips.

 

“What happened?”

The Doctor scoots down in the bed so he can face her.

“He can’t go back in his own timeline, but he can go back in yours. Even in a parallel universe, it left a mnesic imprint, and you’re remembering it.”

“Why would he do that?”

 

He seriously considers lying but from the way her eyes are welling up, he can tell she already knows. He runs his fingers through her hair in a way he hopes is comforting and takes a deep breath, holding it in for a few seconds before talking.

 

“I think it’s quite possible that he went back in time to see you... to see you one last time.”

“He died.”

“Regenerated,” the Doctor amends, “still…”

“He was alone, why did I leave him alone?”

 

She’s properly crying now, clutching him. He holds her close for a long time, rocking their bodies slightly. Her tears soak his chest where she’d laid kisses yesterday. Resting his lips on her temple, he whispers soothing words against her skin. Her pain hurts him more than the Time Lord's regeneration. If anything, it's better off that way, how could he ever move on with Rose at the heart of his every cells. There'll be a new face, and new companions and a new lightness in his hearts. But Rose, every time she'll look at him, she'll be reminded that this face doesn't exist anymore in her original world.

 

“There’s only you now,” she says, echoing his thoughts.

“You’re stuck with the copy.”

 

He’s surprised by the bitterness in his own voice. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hands, she looks up at him with a frown. She climbs on top of him and sits in his lap, placing her hands over his chest. There’s that sparkle in her eyes: determination. She kisses him briefly, her lips salty with tears.

 

“The Doctor’s out there, with a new face and probably a new catch phrase, and it breaks my heart that he had to regenerate. But you...” She cradles his face, on the verge of tears again. “You’re here, against all odds, you’re with me, my Doctor, and I love you... He— you once told me to have a fantastic life and my life wouldn’t be half as fantastic without you.”

 

She’s said it before, but he realizes he’s never really believed it until now. He feels it this time, the pieces clicking into place in his soul, feeling whole. He wipes a strand of hair from her forehead, tucking it behind her ear. There’s just a hint of insecurity in her look, a slight crease between her eyebrows, something held back in her smile. Just like he’s been scared that she would try to find a way back to the other Doctor, maybe she’s been scared he’d up and leave too. His fingers drift from her cheek to the nape of her neck, bringing her mouth to his for a lingering kiss that tastes like an apology.

 

“You are my life,” he says with their lips only an inch apart.

 

She kisses him back, her blunt fingernails digging in his chest as he wraps his arms around her, holding her as close as humanly possible, skin pressed against skin. She rests her head under his chin, and in her hair he smells the expensive perfume he’d given her on Christmas on Pete’s advice. He’d tried, unsuccessfully, to make up for something intangible they had before. He’d gone about this all wrong.

 

An idea sparks in his mind. Of course!

 

“There’s something we must do Rose.”

“Yeah?”

He nudges her off him so he can look in her eyes.

“I’m going to suggest something, and in order to convey my feeling properly I’m gonna have to use a very bad word because I’m human now and that’s what I do.”

“Ok,” she says, chuckling through her tears, the lighthearted sound solidifies his resolve to voice his thoughts.

“Here goes.” He clears his throat. “Fuck Torchwood.”

Her mouth drops.

“You don’t have to work for them, you’re not a 9 to 5 kind of girl, you’re Rose Tyler, the Bad Wolf, the Valiant Child and the most wonderful human being I know.”

He clutches her hands to his chest, pleading with his eyes.

“We don’t have to wait ‘till our Tardis is ready to travel. Let’s go see the world. Together. We can still be the stuff of legend.”

 

She thinks about all the reasons why she should say no: her mother, Pete, money, passports...

 

“Fuck Torchwood,” she agrees.

“Fuck,” he repeats, giddy.

In a swift move, she’s underneath his lean frame.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he chants between kisses, making up for all the times his other self never said it.

 

Yes, she’ll have a really great year.


End file.
